The Colour of Memories
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: While he fends off the nightmares, Mukuro has to wonder why he seems to be the only one who longs for his lover's touch. 1869 TYL Lemon


I like this one. Uke!Mukuro by choice? MADNESS, right? –points at prompt…and is _prompt_ly shot- Oyes. Kill me. What an awful pun.

**Prompt: **TYLHibari/TYLMukuro - madness; "you bring out the darkness in me" (KHRFest)

**Warnings:** Lemon~ Not particularly detailed but still, there it is, babies~ No kinks, though! OMG! Yaoiiiiiiiiiiiii. Duh.

**The Colour of Memories**

It was the touch of his lips that was so intoxicating. It was the pulse that raced through his body when he tasted that breath, how suddenly clothing seemed bothersome and the cool air all that much more inviting. Maybe it was the way it made him smirk to remember the first time he'd touched them, how the other had knocked their teeth together in his clumsiness. Now there was no sign of that awkward first touch; now there was grace and a lithe hunger behind each touch that sought out every one of his weaknesses and laid them bare to those hands to mould as they saw fit.

That had to be why anxiety ran through his body when he was alone. Being alone had been, before, a sort of retreat; a peace that let him rest in his fairy tale prison and pretend he was not only an illusion to everyone else. Now the darkness held only memories, and with those memories came the nightmares. He'd thought himself the master of darkness. Darkness, however, had turned the tables. Suffering, pain, it was meant to fade with time—but every dream renewed it, keeping every wound fresh and gaping in his mind. Every time he dreamt it was of excruciating pain and horrifying sights that he'd thought he had locked carefully away in the back of his mind.

But that couldn't be why he disliked being alone. It was only touch he craved.

Rokudou Mukuro did not _miss_ that man, because he did not _care_ about that man. He couldn't care about that man, whose hands touched him so thoroughly and whose lips made him close his eyes and lose himself to that bliss…

It had shocked him the first time he'd been touched like that. He had been imprisoned when he was ten years old and, while he understood the mechanics of the human body and of its needs, he'd never applied them to himself in his illusory form. Yet he could, if he chose, feel through that illusion; he could feel every bit as if it were his real body. And curiosity had at first taken him with a writhing, biting hunger that made him thrust himself into that illusion and feel with the force of true flesh every touch, every sensation, every breath and every caress and every beat of his heart. That hunger was replaced with a lust even he couldn't believe at first.

Then he had seen it mirrored in the other's eyes and suddenly he didn't mind it.

He refused to be the one who would leave that little flower tucked into the gate of the old middle school too often. However, every day that passed that he looked and did not find it there rankled him. When he left it, Hibari Kyouya was always at their meeting place a few hours later; but when he waited, it took days or even weeks for the man to leave the flower for Mukuro to see and meet him. But he refused to betray just how badly he needed their meetings by asking for them too often. He would not debase himself.

Part of him knew he could find another lover to pass the meantime, but no matter the sense he saw in that he couldn't bring himself to do it. He longed only for one touch. Only one voice, only one hot breath on his ear, his neck, his thighs. Only one pair of mouth against his own, against his skin; only one set of teeth nipping at his neck and sinking into his shoulder. There was only one whose breath he wanted to mingle with his own. And while that unsettled him, he could not make it change.

But days passed, and every day, more than once a day, Mukuro stopped outside the gates of Namimori Middle and looked at the gate with a small frown. Then he continued walking, hands in his pockets and head held high, his shoulders straight as if to face a burden. Every time he looked, the gate was bare. No flower rested in the nook of metal.

And finally he couldn't stand it anymore. His dreams grew worse, terrifyingly so. He even doubted his sanity, but then, he had wondered if he was ever sane for years. Surely one who had the memories of lives and deaths and hells and heavens and all that was between could never be sane. But that did not mean he was _crazy_; it meant only that his mind operated _differently._ No, this made him doubt that. It made him wonder if he was being driven out of his mind and into something else far darker and painted in shades of pain.

The shade of comfort, though, was one of silver. He needed that colour.

It was the dream that made him do it. A dream that had for a long time haunted him, a memory that had taken too much to fade. In his dream he remembered it crisply; when he woke it faded to shades of excruciating crimson and flickering flames and agonizing, screaming _pain_ and a burning and burning that went on and on and on…

Were he able to move his imprisoned body, he would have woken up yelling.

His shoulders were squared arrogantly as he slid the stem of a small white wildflower into the niche of painted iron as if to challenge anyone who would call him on his embarrassment. He was alone, as it was the middle of the day and children would be in class and others had no reason to be here at the time. Then, with a last glance around and the tiny consideration of removing the flower and continuing to wait, he let the illusion of himself fade away from the sidewalk.

Kyouya would be there tonight.

In the meantime he tried to sleep. When he let darkness claim his sight the only images he found were of terror and of pain; it threatened to engulf him whole. Instead he thrust himself again into the outside world as a spectre, relieved to see through the eyes of his illusion. Relieved to be away from the recesses of his mind and the monsters that haunted it.

_Silver. I need that silver._

Time ticked by slowly, creeping along at the fickle pace it always did. The ticking of a clock filled his mind with its indefatigable monotonousness, tempting him to attempt something to pass the time but always finding that any idea would elude his grasp and he could only wait, all the more impatient for his efforts. Day faded lazily to dusk, the shadows so slowly lengthening, torturing him nearly as thoroughly as his dreams.

He was on his feet when a figure came trodding down the path, stepping quietly and purposefully. Those steps were something he recognized. It took an effort to keep the relief from showing in his voice as Kyouya walked closer.

Neither said a word until he'd come so closer that their bodies touched through their clothes and their lips met in a hungry embrace that stole his breath and stole his thoughts and all he could think was that he needed to see that silver. So he pulled back with a small sigh, ignoring Kyouya's questioning look while he looked into his eyes. The Cloud had never been a particularly tall man and now was no exception, but he always seemed to tower over Mukuro when they stood like this even though the illusionist had to be several inches taller.

Perhaps Kyouya sensed that for some reason he needed to stand there for a moment, just lost in his eyes. The longer that silver met his gaze the more he melted into relief, a nearly alarming sense of safety as his dreams were driven away for as long as their skin met.

"You never call for me anymore," he said softly. His lover knew what he meant. The flower was always placed by Mukuro's hand.

For a moment the man regarded him with what might have been a thoughtful expression. Then he felt himself swept off of his feet and laid softly back in the grass. The park here, especially the deeper part of the path, was untrod at night but for their steps; they were alone and there was no reason to worry that they would be found. For a few hours, at least, this place was theirs alone.

That was not an answer from him, but it was satisfying enough for the moment.

Their lips met again as Mukuro's fingers played through the man's hair. His eyes closed and he arched his back, pressing their chests together, holding him close, aching for that touch. _When you're away, _he thought with a shiver, _you bring out the darkness in me._

His lover knew his body and every one of his weaknesses. A tremulous moan left his lips their tongues brushed, the friction delicious, eager to taste more and be tasted. His hands moved to slide the jacket from Kyouya's shoulders, letting it fall into the cool grass beside them, his fingers deftly releasing each button on his shirt.

_Now take it back. _

He never wore a jacket when he came to meet his lover. Fingers slid beneath his shirt, trailing his stomach and tracing the muscles there with teasing but ravenous touches as if committing the planes of his body to memory though they ought to be there already. Lips touched his nipple through the fabric, sucking softly and pressing the weave of the cotton against him. That earned a gasp.

_Take it all away._

His hands slid along the smooth angles of Kyouya's chest after he slid off the shirt. The moonlight was a patchy illumination beneath the leaves of the oak they lay beside but was nonetheless enough to earn his admiration of that body. Another time he might have wished only to let himself burn the image deep enough into his mind that he would never forget a single detail; instead he would rather have learned it from touch.

_Make it leave._

Their lips met once again, this time hungrier, Mukuro's parted to let his lover in. Kyouya bore their bodies closer, ridding him of his shirt and tossing it to the side while he drove the kiss deeper, his head tilted and eyes closed as his hands explored and his tongue wandered, first along his teeth and then across his jaw, his tongue touching his neck and his teeth tugging at his shoulder.

_Take it. Drive it away. Drive away every nightmare, all the darkness…_

"Kyouya." The name escaped his throat breathlessly, his head tilted back to expose the curve of his neck, letting it be kissed and nibbled and nipped. His fingers curled against his lover's shoulders, digging lightly into smooth, pale skin as he was shushed softly. No words now. Only touch, only taste, only smell, only the sounds of their breath and of their moans. No need for words that could not have described what they felt anyway.

He felt his trousers being slid from his hips though he hadn't felt the zipper being pulled. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, hitched and quick, in the brief respite from the assault of touch. But he wanted more, like he always did; like they both did. It was teeth that met his lip, nibbling and tugging softly, teasing him, almost tickling him while another item was added to the discarded pile quickly growing beside them.

The cool caresses of his kisses as they made their way across his chest, his ribs, along the line of his hipbone, around his arousal and trailing downwards drove him crazy. Mukuro bit his tongue, fighting back a moan at the nip on his soft inner thigh. Fingers traced lazy lines along the supple curve, drawing a sigh of pleasure and a pang of hunger.

Their eyes met again when his tongue explored his manhood, fondling every soft spot, teasing every sensitive place, bringing little moans of want that urged him on. Mukuro could have lost himself in that gaze were he not already lost in the pleasure. His toes curled and his ankles arched while his hands coiled over the grass. He wanted to call that name again but he remembered the soft shush and the sound was left unformed but hanging in the air between them as if it had been voiced nonetheless.

Then Kyouya had taken him in, their gaze breaking but sudden pleasure crashing over him. He held his hips with one hand, forcing him to let his lover guide him in and out of his mouth, his lips closed over him, his teeth so slightly brushing his skin, sending electric tingles of desire and pleasure and drawing him to a heat that made him tremble. A cry escaped his throat as he met a climax that washed over him, earning a hum of appreciation as his seed was taken. Gently he was released and Kyouya shifted, his hips cradled between Mukuro's thighs while the illusionist worked urgently at his belt, at the button and at the zipper, and finally was able to push down the top of his trousers.

A tiny smile was on Kyouya's mouth at his urgency but he slid them the rest of the way off along with his boxers, releasing himself into the cool air.

_Surely they'll go away if I can burn this into my mind so clearly._

He did not use his fingers. The first time they had laid together, Mukuro had stopped him from it. He wanted to feel the pain that only drove him deeper into this illusory body, made it all the more real, drove all other thoughts and all other feelings away. Pain, to rid himself of terror. It seemed a fair trade.

Still he was excruciatingly gentle as he entered, their lips pressed together, Mukuro's ankles hooked behind Kyouya's hips. Their tongues mingled while their pulses did the same, and quicker he pulled their hips apart. He pushed himself in again, faster this time, earning a loud gasp and a little moan as he gained speed, soon creating a delicious friction they both longed for, both wanted more of.

"Deeper," Mukuro whispered breathlessly. If he were full of Kyouya there would be no room left for the darkness. His fingers dug harder into the man's shoulders as his request was met. Their hips touched when they came together and parted as they drew apart, each time leaving a dreadful absence but quickly replaced, the friction a scorching heat that built and built. Mukuro trembled, his mouth open to allow his lover inside, and their teeth did not touch but it felt as if they should have.

He moaned again, louder, his thighs tensing tighter around Kyouya, drawing him back in, pulling him down against him, their lips locked together, his back arching and his arms thrown about his lover's shoulders while he gasped, pleasure again grabbing him and sweeping him away for a moment until it ebbed, leaving a thrumming warmth of satisfaction while he clenched around the other, drawing a low moan as he was brought to the same.

The sticky warmth of his lover filled him to overflowing, making his blood rush giddily.

_Imprint this to memory so it outweighs all else._

Kyouya pulled out slowly, separating their bodies once again. His absence left an aching, gaping loss between them but still their skin brushed, flushed with slowly draining heat. "I knew you would," he whispered softly.

Mukuro looked at him quizzically. "I would what?"

He seemed to mull the words over before he replied, lying on his side and shifting until he was comfortable, his arms still around the illusionist's supple body, his fingers lightly stroking the smooth skin of his back. "I didn't put the sign there because I knew you would when you wanted me," he finally murmured, the words flippant but an intense look in his eyes.

He drew a slow breath. "But when you want me…?" His voice was soft, but that helped to hide the quiver he should never have let escape.

Kyouya gave him a long, even look. His words were said rather flatly. "Someone would notice if the flower were there every day."

That made him blink. "You mean you wait for me because you always…?"

"Mm." A light kiss silenced him, but his mind reeled.

A tiny smile was tugging at his lips when he looked into those eyes, earning a tiny inquisitive look that he only chuckled and shook his head at.

_Go away, darkness, go back where you came from. I have all the silver I need._


End file.
